Under a Thick Exterior
by Marilyn Cane
Summary: All the signs are there. Everyone's just too stupid to notice.
1. Chapter 1

So, I sort of saw this movie twice in a matter of five days, and when watching the Tony Stark snarky scenes, I realized exactly how fucked up in the head he'd be by this point. And I'm bored, having pretty much nothing to do in my classes now that AP testing is over, so writing this is my way to be un-bored (and hopefully get over my writing block). Takes place after the movie as if everyone stayed in New York.

Also, note: no Tony and Pepper romance. Robert Downey Jr. and Gwenth Paltrow had no chemistry as a couple, and her scenes were quite literally the only things I didn't like about the movie. Otherwise, this thing was perfect. Sorry if that bothered anyone (and for the love of god, don't flame of me for my opinion).

Mostly not told in his POV. So sort of like a third party's view on the character, each on how he (or she) starts to realize that something's a little off. I...don't really think I have an excuse for this one.

And I don't remember the comics, so if there are any disconnects in background, please excuse them. Actually, just consider this **AU**, since I plan on screwing with it a lot. A lot of it will be insinuated.

Wow, this was a long author's note. I apologize.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

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It's the bathrooms where Natasha first starts to notice it.

After an argument with Clint, she blows off steam by running the paths of Central Park and by the time she gets back to Stark Tower her legs are aching from the strain and all she wants to do is relax in a bath to get rid of the soreness in her muscles. It takes checking eleven washrooms before she's forced to accept the sad fact that her room isn't the only one with just a shower - not a single room in the entire twenty-two story building has a bath. And it takes half a second for her to figure out why.

She ends up giving up after realization strikes her and takes a burning hot shower that hurts but feels _so _wonderful and ignores the possibility that she's worried because she doesn't worry about anyone other than Clint since he's the only one who deserves it. Even if he does have his own fair share of jackass moments.

"Jeez, Natasha," comes her friend's voice as she exits the bathroom, wrapped in a towel because she expects no one else to be there but he's sitting on her bed like he was invited. Lucky for him the run and hot shower relieved most of her stress, or she might kick his ass, wrapped in a towel or not. "You were in there for half an hour."

She scowls and walks over to the closet, throwing her civilian exercise clothes into the hamper. How Stark managed to convert six floors into what're pretty much penthouse suites for all of them in under a week is somewhat of a mystery, but then again about half the stuff he does is, so it really isn't all that surprising. "Shut up," she says. "It's not like we have anything going on."

"Yeah." Clint lays down, hands tucked behind his head as she wiggles into a pair of jeans. "I have to say, the break's pretty nice."

"As long we never eat shawarma again." Clint gives a low laugh. "Hey, that was disgusting."

"Thor seemed to like it."

"True."

They avoid the subject of their argument to avoid apologizing and she slips inside the closet door to finish dressing. "So is everyone else still gone?" she asks.

Clint answers, "No - well, actually, I almost got roped into food shopping but played rock-paper-scissors with Steve, so he's gone. Bruce is...somewhere. I'm assuming here. Thor's in a completely different dimension, and Tony's locked in his lab again. Something about cell phones and avoiding radiation." Right. That sounds about normal. She exits, ruffling her hair with the towel to get out the worse of the moisture. "So why'd you end up spending half an hour in the shower?"

"I wanted a bath, but Stark doesn't have any." She throws the wet towel over the end of her bed and thinks that for an assassin, her room's pretty messy. Or at least the end board is.

"Guys don't take _baths, _Natasha."

With a shrug, she sets on the edge of her bed next to him. "Pepper does, and she's over all the time," she points out, and sometimes she forgets that she knows more about Stark than every one of the other Avengers combined. By this point she's worked for him and with him and is the only one who's read his full file. "And we should get sushi tonight from that place on Eighth."

"Why?"

Again, she shrugs. "'Cause I feel like it," she answers.

She misses Clint's frown as he sits up, leaning back against the headboard. "Are you okay?"

"What?"

"You're acting weird."

"Just because I'm Russian doesn't mean I'm not allowed to like sushi." But that's not what he meant and she knows it. To anyone else, she wouldn't be this transparent, but the two of them have known each other for a long, long time. Sparing lives does that to people. "What, would you rather get dinner from the place downtown?"

"Russian food's disgusting, no offense," he answers. "Not as bad as British, but still. Unless it's a desert."

She hums distractedly in agreement. As a kid she pretty much lived off of apple crisp. The digital clock next to her bed reads _4:15. _"I'm going to go bother Stark," she says, running her fingers through her wet hair to work out a few knots, too lazy to go back into the bathroom for her brush. "You should come."

Clint shakes his head. "I don't feel like arguing with JARVIS."

"No one ever wants to argue with JARVIS," she says and stands. "So, I'll see you later then. About the sushi."

"Right," he says, but doesn't get up from the bed. "I'm going to steal your room for a while. I think I left a book in here."

She nods and exits the room, bare feet padding silently on the soft carpet floor. Stark really had gone all out on making this place nice, but she guesses that's just the way he is - he likes the extreme. At least the colors aren't bright. She'd probably have to kill him. _Reading a Letter_ by Bogdanov-Belsky hangs near her door, a picture that he apparently found in the basement of his old place, though what a Nineteenth century Russian painting was doing there is subject to speculation.

Though it takes a while, she finally finds him in the second to last laboratory - or, not really him, but his location. Out of the eight others she checked, this is the only that's locked. She knocks, more a halfhearted attempt because she knows it won't work, and ignores JARVIS when he tells her Stark is working too hard to be interrupted, and thinks that she might know more about him than any of the other Avengers alive, but she's the only one who has no idea how to get in; Clint climbs through air shafts that Tony can't rig for infrastructure reasons, Banner knows the code to override JARVIS' system (though she doubts it'll last that way for long), Steve manages to annoy him until he's let in, and Thor doesn't count because he's in a different dimension.

That, and she's pretty sure she's the only one that Stark really, really hates. He doesn't really bother trying to hide it either.

She knocks again, louder. "Stark!" she calls, and gets no answer. She tries again, "Clint and I were wondering if you wanted sushi tonight!" Silence. She hits the door again, harder. "STARK!"

"I've got food here. Stop pounding on my -"

"No you don't!" Again, silence. "Stark, when's the last time you ate?" When she still doesn't get an answer, she groans and says, "JARVIS, override lock down."

"_I'm sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but I really must -_"

This is the problem with AI. She can pick any lock in the world and nearly any code but most aren't designed by certified geniuses and _god, _is it annoying. "When's the last time you slept?" A pause. "Dammit, Tony, answer!"

To her surprise, the door slides open and he's leaning against the frame, irritation plain on his face, hair sticking up at weird angles from fingers running through it, bruise-like exhaustion gathered under his eyes, and oh, fuck him if he says he's slept in the last twenty-four hours. Though she doesn't _really _care, the lack of any bathes or pools (which she noticed the first time she ended up on Stark Tower and thought nothing of it) reminds her that he isn't really a selfish jackass, that he's been through as much shit as the rest of them and he drove a nuclear missile through a dimensional rip into space to save the planet and she just wants to go back to hating him in peace. Even if they do live together.

"Stop trying to imitate Steve," he tells her, "or acting like my mother. Whichever one you're channeling."

"I just wanted to find out if you wanted food," she answers defensively.

"That's not why."

No, it really isn't, but she supposes that it's part of the reason. "When's the last time you slept?" she asks.

With a frown, he says, "This is what I mean, _Mom._"

Before he can reach, she grabs his arm and yanks him forward, out of the lab. "JARVIS, shut the door," she says quickly and it slides closed.

"You know I can get back in, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm not letting you." He's surprisingly compliant as she drags him down the hall towards the elevator. "Listen, you're going to get a few hours of sleep," she orders, "then you're showering, and coming out to sushi with us. Got it?"

"I don't want to," he says, and sounds like a child. "I'm working on something. Why are you doing this anyway?"

For the third time in half an hour, she shrugs. "Let's say we're called in," she says, though it's only been about two weeks so she doesn't think it's going to happen but you never know. "You'd come with us. But you'd be sleep deprived and hungry, which lowers your ability to think straight, genius or not. We need you at hundred percent, got it?"

He frowns and says, "Trust me, I'm fine. It's only been three days. Less...about seventy hours, I think."

"Fucking idiot." He makes a sound of protest, but she ignores him. "Jesus, are you _trying _to kill yourself or something? Because if you are, I'm pretty sure space would've done the job for you." When he doesn't answer with something sarcastic and obnoxious right away, she feels an uncharacteristic spike of worry. "Tony?"

They're in the elevator now and he looks asleep on his feet and Natasha wonders if she can tell JARVIS to put him on lock down for health reasons. Probably not, but it might be worth a try. "What did you say?"

"Were you _always _like this?" she asks because she might know him pretty well (or about as much as anyone could really know Tony Stark) but she didn't meet him until after Afghanistan when he was already fucked in the head and walking on death's doorstep. He nods, but it's in an absentminded sort of way that doesn't mean much of anything. And since he's so tired, she takes the opportunity to add, "So what else doesn't this place have? You know, besides bathtubs," and feels his arm tense beneath her hand.

"So that's what this is about?" he says.

"Sort of," she answers. "I figure the whole manipulation thing won't work on you. You aren't stupid enough." It's a compliment, but she makes sure it sounds like an insult. "You can answer, you know. It's not like I have the right to tell anyone - I was the only one with full access to your file."

"Oh, goody." The elevator door slides open and she lets go of him before following him inside. "And to answer your question, cramped spaces, specific shades of brown, and uncovered light bulbs. Will you leave me alone now?"

She shakes her head. "You're still coming out to eat with us," she says and though he exits without saying anything and presses the button so the door slides closed, she knows he'll listen.

For just this once.

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I really need to get better at ending things. Reviews are appreciated! : D


	2. Chapter 2

Whelp, second character. I didn't get Natasha down as well as I'd like, but that was my first shot at writing her. Tony I know is out of character, but as someone who knows from experience, seventy hours of sleeplessness does horrible, horrible things to a person's mind.

Is it weird that I can see the two as a pairing now?

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Bruce finds Tony sleeping on the couch in front of the TV a little past midnight the day before he has a press conference. The remote's on the end table and ABC7 plays on the screen, some story about red squids found off the coast of Key West, updates on the weather written at the bottom of the screen. And he knows from experience that if his friend stays asleep on that couch, they'll all hear about the soreness of some part of his body in the morning. And when he pushes his glasses up his nose and makes a move to shake the man awake, he does it with good intentions.

What he doesn't expect is for him to freak out as he wakes up, and Bruce feels a fist connect with his shoulder as Tony tumbles to the floor at his feet. He takes a step back and his friend scrambles into sitting position, scared and out of place with his eyes all unfocused and he knows what that face means. He kneels down in front of him because he isn't moving and Tony's looking past him not at him but winces when he snaps his fingers in front of his eyes.

Some of the terror fades away to get mingled in confusion and says, "W-where am I?"

Oh, just great. He represses a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Stark Tower," he answers and there's slight recognition but not much. "You know, you've been living here for the past half a year? Other Avengers here for about a months and half? Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

"I guess," he says and shuts his eyes. "Bruce, Natasha, Steve, um -"

"Clint and Thor," he finishes and feels oddly flattered that his name came first. "Remember?"

His eyes open again and he looks around the room before suddenly flinching. "Oh, Jesus."

He grabs him by the shoulders and Tony's gaze focuses on his face as he tries to remember what Betty did to him. "Just look at me," he says and wonders if he really looks like him and how this ended up happening to him anyway. Or why no one gave him the heads up. "What's your full name?"

"Anthony Edward Stark."

"Where are you?"

"Stark Tower."

"What team are you part of?"

"That Avengers."

"Who -"

"I think I'm okay."

Before Bruce can protest, he stands and though it's obvious he's trying to act like there's nothing wrong, he fails terrible. That's what he gets for not wearing pants with pockets. As he stands too, he says, "Am I allowed to ask what that was about?"

Tony, in his typical way, pretends not to hear him. "I'm thirsty," he says. "Are you thirsty? 'Cause I'm going to get a drink."

"You know," he answers, "mixing mental disorders and alcohol isn't such a smart idea."

It would've been nice to know that one his friends had PTSD. To see it written on the file he was given on the to the ship, to have one of the other Avengers tell him - just something to let him know because teammates should be aware of one another's damages for safety reasons. His needs no hiding because it's _there_, Clint and Natasha's files say they show signs of certain things, and Steve was a man out of time, so issues came with the territory. Tony, though - Tony not so much. His personality doesn't fit the profile of someone with psychological misalignment much beyond a possible alcohol problem. "Mental disorder?" he says. "Who said anything about a mental disorder? I'm just tired, that's all. You know, I think I'm just going to -"

"Have you seen a psychiatrist?" he says, cutting him off. "Because I know what flashbacks are."

But he's already to holding himself the way he normally does and if Bruce hadn't talked him through it, he might think he just imagined it. Tony says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Can't fault a guy on being a little slow waking up, you know? And _since _you woke me up, I'm going to take the opportunity to not kill my neck, so I'll see you in the morning."

"Look, Tony," he says, hands together in front of him because he feels uncomfortable in this new knowledge and recognizes it as a way to create distance, something he's been doing for years, "if you really don't want to talk to a professional, you can talk to one of us. Or your other friends."

In answer, he gets an exasperated look and wonders if this is what Pepper feels like when she tries to talk business with him. "Seriously, Bruce," he says, "there's nothing wrong with me. I think you're just ti -"

"Hey, don't pin this back on me." He feels a quiver and realizes he's about an inch away from a personality flip. Tony seems to realize it too, because he doesn't answer. After taking a moment to calm down himself, he adds, "Listen, I know that you're stubborn and you probably don't want to hear this, but if you aren't going to get help for yourself, then at least get it for us. I mean, what if you have a flashback in the middle of a fight? It's a hazard -"

He knows this comes out wrong even before Tony interrupts him. "_I'm_ a hazard," he says. "You - Jesus. This is going nowhere. I'm heading to bed, and you probably should too."

Though he might be smart with math and science and anything intellectual, Bruce is woefully unaware of how to deal with the problems of other people, and runs out of words as Tony rushes out, leaving him in the dark room with the soft glow of the television as his light.

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Jeez, this was harder than Natasha (who, according to reviews, I apparently did well on). I think it's just because Hulk was so damn awkward in the movie for me.

Anecdote time!: So, I was in the movie theater on a Friday night, surrounded by girls fangirling over his adorable social inept-ness. It couldn't quite figure out why it was making me so uncomfortable until halfway through the movie...when I realized he looked astoundingly like my uncle. Like, almost exactly. And because of all the fangirling, I had a bit of troubling understanding most of the dialogue in his scenes until the second time I saw it. Same thing happened with pretty much of all the other Avengers too, but this just had the added level of wtf.

So, now that my little anecdote is done, reviews are appreciated! And thanks for all the other ones!


	3. Chapter 3

Third chapter! This story's making me happy, even if the subject matter was totally depressing. Heh. And I'm not really sure how to get Thor in since I already established that he's in Asgard...I guess I'll figure it out (so sorry Kichi).

And remember, I don't remember the comics, so the background won't match up perfectly or anything.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Steve can't talk to Tony without bickering about one thing or another, and he can't broach the subject of Howard without the other man abruptly walking away. So when he manages to find him sitting out on the now-repaired balcony, he takes the opportunity to do something he should've done in the beginning.

"Hey," he says, and takes a seat next to him, wondering why this deck doesn't have a rail. "Nice weather, right?"

Tony snickers. "Nice weather?" he repeats. "You need to brush up on your small talk skills, Cap. What do you want to lay on me this time?"

He messed up big time when they first met, and he admits it. "Just...no one told me yet," he says, looking out across the damaged landscape of the reconstructed Manhattan streets. "So, I know you don't want to talk about it, but what happened to Howard?"

"Car crash," Tony answers without pause. "He and my mom were driving down from Massachusetts and swerved out of the way to avoid an accident with another driver. Ended up flipping over the guard rail. But don't worry - the doctors said they died at impact, wouldn't have hurt at all."

For a moment he stays silent, letting the information sink it and trying to remember what his file said. It gave no explicit details, but it gave ages and dates and any other number the government could find to make a death seem unimportant. "You were seventeen, right? A junior in college?" he asks, and Tony nods. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tony says. "They died. Everyone does. I got over it."

"He was a good man," Steve says because Howard really was, whether his son seems to think so or not. He had his flaws, but everyone does.

"Shit father, though." There's pause and he looks away, down. "You know, they were coming down to get me. It was the first day of spring break and dad just got out of a meeting. Two in fucking afternoon and there's some guy driving down the highway high off his ass on heroine on a Thursday. Really bright day too, like no clouds, hadn't rained in days, but there was oil on the road from some leaking car, so when they went to get out of the way, they slid."

"How -"

"And you know what the really fucked up part is?" he continues. "I was originally going to stay Thursday night so they could pick me up on Friday even if my classes ended the day before because for whatever reason they felt like picking me up rather than let someone else do it. But I got sick in the middle of my last final so my dad cancelled the second half of the meeting to come and get me. All because of a damn stomach virus."

This is not how he expected Howard to go - in a twist of bad luck on a warm spring day with his wife, leaving his son to feel his way through adulthood on his own, already exposed to the spotlight of the media. "It's not your fault," he says because he thinks he's starting to understand Tony, a little.

"Never said it was."

But he did, and that's the point. There are a lot of things Steve doesn't understand about this day and age, but he knows that human nature hasn't changed much and people can say one thing and mean another. "What happened after?" he asks.

Tony glances at him. "What's it to you?"

"I guess I just want to know," he answers, running his fingers through his hair. "Your dad was my friend, and probably the only one I can really find out about."

"I don't know how I can help," he says, "You knew him better than I did." He goes to say something, but Tony continues, "He talked about you sometimes. Said half the comic books were made up because you punched Hitler two hundred times, not just once."

Yeah, well there's always that. "They seriously had me punch Hitler in the comic?" he says, and Tony nods. "That's ridiculous. Last issue or something?"

"Second to last page."

"Sounds about right."

They fall silent for a moment, watching the construction below. In the distance he can see Brooklyn and thinks that from here it really doesn't look all that different from the one he knows. Suddenly, Tony says, "I was considered too young to live on my own and I had a legal guardian so I got stuck with him and to be honest I don't really remember all that much between spring break and graduation a year later when I could go get my own place. Haven't thought about it in a while."

So much for dealing with it, Steve thinks. He also thinks that Tony's lying, but he can't be sure one way or the other. "I'm sorry," he answers automatically because there's nothing else to say.

"Don't be."

Suddenly he feels something a little off about this and can't quite place why because Tony lies way too often for it to bother him and this transcends the awkward conversation. He glances over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something attack or get news from Fury that some natural disaster hit off the coast of some heavily inhabited island or something. When he focuses back, he sees Tony looking up at the sky to where the portal was because Steve horribly misjudged him and knows it. The guilt hits much harder than he would've expected.

"I just got an idea for something," Tony says, but it's not with the same rush as usual. "I'll talk to you later, Cap."

"Wait," Steve says, grabbing his arm when he gets up. "Listen, Tony, your - well, give yourself some credit."

"What're you talking about?" he says, looking a him like he's crazy. "What happened to giving myself too _much _credit?"

He'd clarify, but he isn't sure what he means either.

"Just think about it," he tells him.

.

God, I suck at endings. I know I've complained about it before, but it's true. Review please!

Also, I think I'm going to write a crossover with something because those are always fun (or at least to me).


	4. Chapter 4

Yeah, next chapter was supposed to be Thor, but I totally can't figure out how to write his point of view. Which is weird, because after working at the Renaissance Faire for two years, I can probably write his dialogue better than anyone else. I think I need to re-watch _Thor._

So, Clint!

Oh, and in advance: the later comment on cleanliness stems from the realization that after three months in captivity with no way to clean yourself is enough to make anyone a little obsessed with personal hygiene.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

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"You know, if you keep up drinking it might end up killing you."

"Shut up, it's just ice tea."

Clint takes a seat across from Tony at the island in the kitchen, watching him take a sip from the coffee mug that obviously does not hold anything alcoholic. "Seriously?" he says. "That's a new one."

Tony ignores him. "So what're you doing up so late?" he says instead. "It's what, two in the morning? I thought you and Steve were the only two with normal sleep habits."

He answers, "Couldn't sleep," because saying a nightmare woke him up sounds too childish. "What about you? What's your excuse this time?" A shrug. "Jesus."

"You don't need to call me Jesus - just Tony's fine."

What a terrible attempt at early morning sarcasm, he thinks, but keeps it to himself. "So are you a real insomniac or just have a really unhealthy sleep cycle?"

"Insomniac." This isn't all that much of a surprise. "I have some melatonin courtesy of Pepper if you're tired."

"You have melatonin and you don't take it?"

The other man's face twists into a scowl. "You're starting to sound like Romanoff," he says, which is way more of a shock than most of the things Tony says. Over the years of working with her, she's never pestered anyone about health and self-destructive behavior besides him. And he was pretty sure that she -

Bathtubs, he remembers. Natasha went to bother Tony after the comment about bathtubs. But why the fuck would he have anything against water? Last he checked, he was a little obsessed at keeping himself clean. "Sorry?" he says, and yawns, covering his mouth with his elbow. "Anyway, are you working on something or just up?"

"I'm working on thermodynamics and transdimensional theory in relation to a time travel machine powered by uranium and olive oil."

Tony says it with a straight face, and in his tired state, it takes Clint a solid second to realize he's joking. "So just up then, I'm guessing?" he says, and steals Tony's ice tea, and though he scowls, he doesn't make a move to get it back. He nods, and it looks reluctant. "Ever think of getting that checked out? The insomnia, I mean. You can probably get something -"

But he can't finish, because Tony suddenly says, "Fuck, you too? Why does everyone think I need a psychiatrist? Do guys have a conspiracy to get me committed?"

Okay, now he's _really _confused. "Get you committed?" he repeats. "Why? I never said there's anything wrong with you."

"That makes you the only person in this house then," he answers and falls against the back of his chair, crossing his arms. "Bruce and Natasha both think I have PTSD, and Steve - god, like fuck I know. He thinks I have _something _but doesn't have the modern psychological vocabulary to place it to any particular diagnoses."

Clint slides the glass of ice tea back to him, but Tony doesn't touch it. "Ever think they're just worried about you?" he says, and blames the sleepless for talking. Just because he likes Tony doesn't mean he has to show it this much. "I mean, we do sort of work with you. And live with you."

"It's nothing important," he answers. "They're all just blowing it out of proportion."

"Tony, you flew into outer space with a bomb."

"It was either that or letting Manhattan get destroyed."

"You could've just thrown it."

There's a pause, a short silence that's more like a lapse than anything else. Before it lasts too long, though, Tony says, "You just called me suicidal."

So maybe he did, but that wasn't what he was thinking. Unfortunately, he doesn't know exactly _what _he was thinking to refute that statement. "What happened to you anyway?" he asks. "I mean, they've got to get it from something."

"Like I said, it's nothing important. And besides, they all think it's something different. I don't particularly want you to make assumptions either."

"It's two in the morning. Try me."

Again, a pause, and Clint can see the point where Tony makes up his mind and just gives in and he isn't sure if this counts as an accomplishment or not. After the whole flying-a-missile-into-space-and-proving-he-actually-gives-a-shit thing, it became pretty obvious to all of them that he isn't really the way he acts. Of course, this new bit of information is unexpected and a part of him doesn't want to know because he likes thinking he's a _little _off and doesn't want to suddenly think that he's _really _off.

Finally, Tony answers, "Two years ago I got held captive in Afghanistan. The news was never really made known to the general public, but Romanoff knows because of...stuff. I was stuck up in a cave with a car battery keeping from shrapnel getting to my heart and killing me, so I made this thing." He taps the Arc Reactor. "They wanted me to build them a weapon and well, you know, tortured me, I guess. But I got over it. Romanoff realized that I don't have any bathtubs and decided that it's PTSD when I'm pretty sure there's a difference between not wanting to reminded of something and have a mental disorder."

"I can't be around a TV showing kid's program," he says because it's two in the morning, so a secret for a secret or a damage for a damage isn't terrible. "I, uh, killed a guy in Indiana while his wife and kid were in the other room and all I could hear was that stupid _Dora the Explorer _show and the little girl laughing."

"But that's not PTSD."

"No, it's not," he agrees. "Not as bad as waterboarding, though. Or getting stuck in a cave. So Bruce and Steve know?" Tony shakes his head. "Oh."

"Bruce just woke up from a dream. Decided that I once I didn't _immediately _act all awake and cheerful or whatever that I must be loose a few screws." It's probably more than that, Clint thinks, but figures that if he wants to find about Steve that he probably shouldn't argue. "And Steve - well, hell, the guy decided to ask me what happened to my dad and figured that since my parents died that I must've been affected. Made the stupid mistake of telling him I couldn't remember the year after that, too."

"You don't remember a year?" he says, a little sharper than he means to and has to back peddle a little because he's already up and sparing his friend ten minutes of catharsis isn't a bad way to spend an early morning. That and he's really, really curious by this point. He adds, "You were going into your senior year of college, right? What, did you start drinking then something?"

Again, Tony shakes his head. "Not until the end of that year. And before you ask, no, I didn't do drugs and never have. Drinking's one thing, but I don't want to kill my brain cells on heroine or the THC in marijuana or something."

Well, there's always that, he supposes. "So you have no idea?"

"I don't even remember who I was living with. I eventually found out it was...someone one from the company, but I don't know, maybe I hit my head or something. I spent like a week in the hospital for a head injury not long after my graduation and it's possible to lose a year like that."

Nothing on his medical file mentioned anything about a head injury and the way he said, "I don't even remember who I was living with," makes something click that disturbs him more than he would like to admit. People don't just obliterate a year of their life without reason, but the subconscious can suppress long-standing trauma. The idea that Tony has PTSD is steadily sounding more and more plausible and despite what he said, Clint already sees him differently. Self-obsessed (supposedly) or not, no one deserves to go through that shit. Any of it.

"Well," Clint says, "I don't think you need to get committed or get treated like a time bomb or something."

"But you do think something."

He shrugs. "I don't know, Tony," he answers. "Meds might be a good idea though, at least for the insomnia. It might make the flashbacks go away."

"I don't have flashbacks."

"That's bullshit and you know it." When he gets no counterargument, he knows he won - or at least a little. "You have to take into account that you're fighting with us. If you get a flashback in the middle of -"

Tony groans, cutting him off. "Bruce told me the same thing," he says. "It's not going to happen."

"He's right. Just think about it."

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone?" He nods. "Fine, I'll think about it. Now go a -"

"Want to watch a movie?" he asks, ignoring him. "We've got like five hours before anyone wakes up and since you're not in the middle of inventing and I'm not going back to bed any time soon, it's not like we have anything else to do."

To his surprise, Tony says, "Sure. Take your pick."

"_Lord of the Rings._"

"What, seriously? Why?"

"Legolas, remember?"

"Fine, whatever."

Small victories where they count. He stands up and grabs Tony's arm, dragging him out of the kitchen and into the common area, and decides he really isn't so bad.

.

For some reason, I always imagined that Clint would be the easiest to talk to out of any of them, and I'm not even really sure why.


End file.
